


It Wasn't Me

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Canon Related, Comfort/Angst, Gen, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 23:42:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1918566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson doesn't remember all of what happened that day. Written for JWP #7.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Wasn't Me

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Assumes knowledge of canon events, particularly the first chapter of A Study in Scarlet. And absolutely no beta. This was written in a complete rush. You have been warned.
> 
> JWP #7: Wrong! Have a character discover that he or she remembers a pivotal life event incorrectly.

“It wasn’t me, you know.”  
  
I paused with my hand stretched out halfway to my glass. On learning that my old orderly, Murray, was in town, I had instantly offered to take him to dinner at Simpson’s. It was the least I could do for the man, but our reunion after so many years had not gone the way I had imagined. At first I thought it was Holmes’ somewhat unexpected presence that caused Murray’s reserve, but now I sensed that we were at the truth of the matter. “What wasn’t you?”  
  
“You wrote that I was the one who got you on the back of that horse at Maiwand,” Murray replied, his voice soft and strained. “But that wasn’t me. I’d got you off the ground, but it was Seaton who found the horse somehow and brought it to us. He was the one who lifted you astride. I tried, but I couldn’t manage it. I just held the horse steady.”  
  
Seaton. The name was only vaguely familiar. If I concentrated, I dimly recalled a vague impression of a rawboned, tall, gangly fellow with a shock of unruly hair bleached almost white by the sun. “I…don’t remember that,” I said slowly. “I only remember bits and pieces of that day. I remember you finding me, and leading the horse.” And the screams, and the pain, but those were better left unsaid. “What happened to Seaton?”  
  
“He sent me off with you, and went to try and help another man.” Murray’s head drooped further. “I never saw him again.”  
  
Fallen, lost, like all too many others of our fellow soldiers on that terrible day.  
  
“You wrote me as a hero, Dr Watson. But we both would have perished there if it hadn’t been for Seaton. He was the hero, not me.”  
  
“Not true,” Holmes spoke up before I could find my tongue. “You might not have found the horse, but you found Watson, did you not?”  
  
Murray’s head came up at the unexpected interjection. “Yes, I did.”  
  
“And you led him to safety despite the rout, did you not? Despite the dangers, and the continuing fire, and the chaos of the retreat.”  
  
My former orderly paled, Holmes’ words undoubtedly stirring up memories in him as they did in my own breast. “Yes,” he whispered.  
  
My friend’s voice was firm, absolute. “Then you were a hero that day. Never doubt it. Not the only hero, undoubtedly, but a hero nonetheless.” He offered Murray his hand, and after a brief hesitation, Murray took it.  
  
I finally finished reaching for my glass, and raised it high. “To you,” I said around the thickness that tightened my throat. “And to Seaton. My heroes.” I swallowed. “Thank you.”


End file.
